Slipping Away
by shepsgirl72
Summary: Written for the flashfic challenge 1 over on LJs Sheppard h c. Spoilers: Season 3's Irresponsible Challenge Prompt: Traps/trapped - no more than 5000 words Summary: Sheppard finds himself in enemy hands, with little hope of discovery or survival.


The sensation of pain in more places than he could count throbbed Sheppard back into consciousness. For a moment he had no recollection of what had happened, and just lay still to minimise his discomfort. Then, as fragmented memories bombarded him, he remembered he was in trouble – serious trouble.

He opened his eyes to blackness and an unnerving swaying motion. Someone was carrying him. Had his team come back to retrieve him? But the voices now breaking through his confusion told him otherwise. They were sharp, unfamiliar – cold, the voices of the men who had beaten him mercilessly, laughing as they did it. He tried to shout out, to continue in his defiance, only then realising they'd gagged him to keep him silent. Flashes of movement flickered across his irises; light through boards. He was in a box – the bastards had crated him up and were moving him. They'd already taken him through the Stargate once after capturing him; if they moved him to another planet, maybe more than one, the chances of his team tracking him down faded. He had to get out now.

When he tried to thump on the lid with his right hand a wave of agony ripped though his left shoulder, almost making him vomit. He couldn't understand the connection until he realised he was tied up. They'd bound his wrists – his ankles, too. These guys meant to keep hold of him. Even if he got out of the box, he wouldn't be able to move fast enough to escape them.

A thump shook through him as his bearers dropped the box to the ground. Through the tiny gaps in the boards he could see vague movement – several men, at least five if he recalled. It had been hard to count while defending himself against the blows. There could conceivably have been a few more, there were definitely more in the original ambush he'd walked into.

They talked among themselves, laughing again, setting his teeth on edge. Sheppard thumped his boots against the lid of his prison, still fighting back. A voice, deep and rough as wire wool, told him to keep still and shut up, but he had no intention of doing that. He wanted out of the confines of that box, and if irritating them enough to make them pull him out for another beating got that result, then so be it.

He kicked again, rattling the boards above him. A booted foot thumped against the side of the box, the sound making his already aching head throb, but they didn't get him out. Before long he was moving again.

_Where, now? _he wondered.

Not far it seemed. The box was lowered again, but not onto solid ground this time. There was a slight wobble as his bearers let go, then he felt himself begin to drop. They where lowering him into a hole using straps, just like he'd witnessed it done at too many funerals.

_No, no, no, no!_

He screamed around the gag in his mouth, rage and fear in equal measure erupting in primal fury. He kicked, thumped, bucked, squawked, everything that was physically possible within the restricted space, and considering his injuries, it was more than he should have been capable of. But all his captors did was laugh. They knew how futile it all was; he couldn't get a good enough swing in there to make a significant impact. He was completely at their mercy, not that they'd shown any thus far. The box thudded to a stop at the bottom of the hole they'd dug for him, the sound echoing in his woolly head like some kind of death knell.

Then followed another noise, one he instantly recognised – it was soil hitting the lid if the box. _No, God, no! _He kicked and thrashed again, rattling the boards a little looser.

An angry voice shouted for him to stop, and a shot rang out. He heard the wood splinter, and a light rain of dirt on his leg before it congealed enough to seal the hole. That was when the searing pain of the injury the bullet had inflicted hit him, a deep gash on the outside of his right thigh. These guys meant to debilitate him, not kill him. They wanted him to suffer – to die slowly. This wasn't just revenge, this was much more than that. This was complete and utter destruction, killing him mentally and emotionally before the bliss of physical death could save him.

No. He couldn't think like that. He had to get out. He kicked more, closing down the pain in his leg as he thudded his boots against the boards above him. More shouting erupted, but it was muffled this time by the layer of dirt already covering him. Another shot, this time burying itself in his left thigh, stopped him momentarily, and he screamed into that gag again, the pain like molten metal in his muscle. But he had to keep kicking; it was his only chance. If he couldn't get out, then at least if they kept shooting him, they might hit something vital and kill him quicker.

But his captors didn't shoot again. Each kick had less effect on the boards above as the weight of the soil increased. All he succeeded in doing was shaking dirt through the gaps in the boards and into his nose and eyes. He stopped kicking and just kept yelling, not that it did any good. They didn't care. As far as they were concerned, this was justified. He deserved to suffer.

Eventually, even the sound of earth falling on top of him was gone, and there was nothing left but darkness, solitude, and the oppressive smell of the soil and hardwood encasing him. He was alone – he was going to die alone...he was going to die slowly and alone.

No. He had to stay positive. The others would be looking for him, and if his captors had only taken him through one gate, there was a good chance Rodney would locate the right planet from the last few stored addresses, and then...then what? He was buried who knew how many feet down in a box; how were they supposed to find him?

_Stay positive! _he told himself again. There was a chance, even if it was only a slim one. What he had to do was prolong his oxygen supply. That meant not panicking.

He slowed his breathing down. Way back in some distant training session, he'd been told the best way to survive this scenario, though at the time he'd figured it was unlikely to happen. What was lucky, in this case, was that the box was actually larger than a coffin, though not much, and his trainer had said that surviving up to two hours in a coffin was possible – if the weight of the soil didn't crush the box you were in first.

Right on cue, the boards above him groaned. _Oh, please God, no! _He regretted his frantic attempts to kick them out now. Had his efforts to save himself doomed him? Thankfully, they held – at least for the time being. If he could see them, he might be able to judge how they were holding up. But he couldn't see anything, not even his own hands as he gritted his teeth and pulled the neck of his T-shirt up over his mouth and nose, moving his injured shoulder more than he could actually bear. Doing that made it feel stuffier than it already felt in that box, but at least it would keep any falling soil out of his airways. He thought about feeling the boards to see how they were holding up, but any further movement of his arms was just too painful. He'd endured it to move the T-shirt because it might improve his chances of survival. Feeling around the box wouldn't change whether or not it held up.

The pain had made him breathe too hard again, and he forced himself to take control, inhaling deeply and holding it for as long as he could before releasing it again. He knew this would not only calm him down, but also conserve valuable air. If he kept this up, he might have up to three hours. Three hours. Who was he kidding? There was no way the others would find him in three hours. They wouldn't be looking underground for him.

_Keep calm!_ His heart had started to race again. He ordered himself to stop thinking about the fact the others wouldn't find him. Perhaps there were clues they would be able to follow if they found the right planet; clues that would lead them to the disturbed earth that had to lie above him.

As he ran the day's events over in his mind he realised how much thought had been put into his capture. The Genii gunfire had been far from indiscriminate, they'd shot at him in a way that had forced him away from the rest of his team, separated him – isolated him – each of them playing their part in driving him into the waiting ambush.

_Isolated. _He swallowed down the lump of fear blocking his throat, determined not to focus on his confines again.

Ronon had fought like a demon, as usual, but he'd taken fire so Sheppard had given the order for the east of his team to get their asses through the 'gate before they got killed, promising to be right behind them.

_Ronon. _The thought of his good friend gave him hope. The Satedan was just about the best damned tracker in the Pegasus Galaxy. If anyone could trace him, it was Ronon.

A dull headache started behind Sheppard's eyes – not a head-splitter, but just enough to remind him that the air was growing staler. He needed to keep his mind off the fact the air was so poor. So, he focused on what had happened earlier again.

He'd always known it was only a matter of time before some of Kolya's faithful came looking for him. News travelled fast in this galaxy, and Lucius' tongue was looser than most. No doubt he would have twisted the tale of Kolya's death into something more than it was, some twisted act that had left the Genii rebel suffering in a pool of blood. Certainly not the simple standoff it had been, over far too soon and too painlessly for what that bastard put him through.

_Calm down, John. You're killing yourself._

Ignoring the slight tingle in his fingertips, he focused on what had happened once the others had gone through, the gate. He'd tried to make a run for it himself while the 'gate was still open, hoping his speed and momentum would carry him through the human barricade surrounding him, but some tough son-of-a-bitch had tackled his legs from under him, and the rest was history.

_Clues. You're supposed to be thinking about what clues you left behind for them._

Well, he'd bled all over the floor in front of the 'gate...so maybe he'd bled when they took him out of the other side, too. That would give them something to follow right up to the place where they'd strung him upside down from the tree and beaten him senseless.

_Stay calm, John. That's over now._

The Genii had blindfolded him and suspended him by the ankles, then beaten him with sticks as if he were nothing more than a piñata. No candy had fallen out, just more of his precious blood. He'd kept his cries to the bare minimum, determined not to look as weak and scared as he'd felt, figuring they'd get bored eventually and either shoot him or dump him, but he hadn't figured on this. This was cruel even by Genii standards – by Kolya's standards.

They'd beaten him about the ribs, legs and arms until they'd opened up numerous lacerations, and the trickles of blood had dampened down the dusty ground three feet beneath him. But they'd been careful not to hit him hard enough to do any potentially lethal damage. They'd had this end in mind all along. They wanted his death to be slow...prolonged...lonely.

_My sub-dermal transmitter._

His friends didn't have to know he was underground. They could track him, trace him, and beam him out. It would be okay, as long as they got the right planet...and the Daedalus wasn't more than about two and a half hours away. Okay, so no beaming out, but they could dig him up. Ronon and Teyla would probably do it with their bare hands – Rodney, well, yeah, maybe even Rodney would nowadays. He didn't seem to get so freaked about splinters, paper cuts, and grazes anymore. He might be able to find it in himself to get his hands dirty for him.

He huffed out a laugh, thinking of the times he'd seen Rodney flailing over something anyone else would probably not even have noticed. But his propensity for hypochondria made his moments of bravery all the more impressive. Sheppard had to admit to himself that he found the quirk kind of endearing now. McKay just wouldn't be McKay without all the babbling about hypoglycaemic reactions and anaphylactic shock. He was going to miss that man.

No he wasn't. In a short time he would be cold and dead and that would be it. Nothing more. He tried to think what nothing meant, but it was too much to get his head around, especially with his worsening headache. Nothing – a complete lack of existence. He wasn't ready to die; there was still so much to do – so many people who needed his help.

He screamed his frustration into the gag again. He wished he could pull it out, but he couldn't get his hands behind his head to loosen it off. Stupid damned dislocated shoulder.

_Calm down, John. You're using up oxygen._

This wasn't the way he'd imagined it would end. He'd always suspected that he wouldn't make old bones – he took way too many risks for that to happen – but he'd hoped to die in battle. Not like this, whimpering in a box in the cold and the dark. Alone.

A tear slid down his temple and into his ear.

_Stop it. You are not going to lose it now. Conserve air. There's still a chance._

He wouldn't give up, wouldn't let the blackness in. His team would find him, and ten minutes of conserved air could make all the difference. He couldn't die just because he'd panicked and let them find him like this. How would they get over it? They wouldn't, that was the simple answer, just like he knew he wouldn't if it was one of them in this situation. He had to make it for their sakes.

But what if there was something in the soil that blocked his transmitter's signal? There were all kinds of mineral deposits that could screw those sorts of things up. McKay had told him about these things numerous times, and he wished he'd paid more attention to the man now. He was so smart; he really didn't give him anywhere enough credit for it. Radioactive elements or lead or something. He had to stop thinking like that. His luck couldn't be that bad. They would find him. The beating Kolya's men had taken their time over had bought him extra hours. They _would _find him.

Once Kolya's acolytes had had their fill of torturing him, they'd cut the rope and let him drop. He'd twisted to avoid landing on his head; that was when he'd put his shoulder out. The pain had been overwhelming, and he'd whimpered – actually whimpered. That had set them off again, kicking at said shoulder until he'd cried out again. Eventually, the pain had proved too much and his mind his enveloped him in comforting, peaceful darkness. Not like this darkness. This darkness was stifling, life sapping, soul destroying...tiring. A yawn crept up on him out of nowhere.

The boards above him creaked, letting through more dirt that dusted his eyes, leaving them gritty and stinging.

_Please hold up! _he begged.

He was trembling now, his whole body quivering with a mixture of tension and fear. He was pretty sure shaking meant he was using up more oxygen. Not that he had a choice; he was sinking into shock after everything he'd been through. He couldn't hold it against himself.

Time dragged on. Seconds stretched to minutes, and minutes to hours. The quality of the air around him changed. It seemed thinner, less satisfying. He felt like he needed to breath faster and had to force himself to take it as steadily as he could. What was it McKay called this? If his head weren't aching so badly he'd probably be able to remember. He needed to sleep to ease the pain.

_No. Come on, John. You know what the word is._

Hypoxia. That was it. He knew a little about it. Eventually, he would pass out with an amazing sense of well being. He looked forward to that. It had to be better than the despair that had been eating at him for what felt like an age now.

Pins and needles stabbed through his hands and feet now. He rubbed his hands together as best he could, tried to flex his feet within his boots, but it made little difference. He knew what it meant, although it was getting harder to form the thoughts. His body was sending the blood and oxygen to his vital organs and leaving his extremities to fend for themselves.

Nausea welled up out of nowhere, a great wave of it that sent his stomach lurching. Great, that was new – at least trying not to puke on himself was something else he could do to fill the time. Something else to fill the boredom...the solitude...the peace.

More time passed and the feelings of sickness and discomfort faded. It _was_ quite peaceful now, he realised. No more beatings, no more yelling or mocking laughter, no more wondering when Kolya's death would come back to bite him on the ass.

The darkness wrapped around him more like a blanket than a death shroud now, comfortable, enveloping, caressing, soothing away the pain of his injuries. He felt tired, and struggled to keep his eyelids pen. He let them slip shut; he couldn't see anything anyway, so there was no need to fight it.

So this was it. This was the end. No more Wraith threatening to feed on him. No more wishing things had turned out differently with Nancy. No more sleepless nights or second guesses over how he'd handled things with Holland, Lieutenant...what was his name. The kid with the bright smile. A marine. Ford...Lieutenant Ford...and the beautiful woman with the soft, brown curls. What was her name...something regal...Elizabeth; that was it. How could he have forgotten them? They'd been like family to him.

His dad...he'd never made it up with him. Should've gone to see him before...before...the big place in the water...it was important; that's why he'd gone there. The only place he'd ever felt at home. But none of that mattered now...not really. It was over now...the strain was all gone.

It really wasn't as bad as he'd thought it would be...he was just slipping away...

*****

'John...John, can you hear me?'

It was a gentle voice, soft and soothing. He knew it from somewhere, but couldn't place it. _Pretty lady. Gentle. Dangerous._

'He's conscious, barely. I can't believe someone would do this.'

Another voice. Male, sharp, edged with restrained panic. _Smart guy._ _Hates lemons._

'They got what was comin' to them. Let's get him back to the jumper.' _Big guy. Loyal. Strong as an ox._

_Pain. Everything hurts! Don't move me. It was so peaceful..._

*****

_Atlantis._

When Sheppard next opened his eyes it was to the brilliant light of Atlantis' infirmary. Atlantis; that had been the last thing he was thinking of, but couldn't remember the name. With no recollection of how he'd got back there, he closed his eyes against the stinging brilliance and enjoyed the peace and quiet – the solitude.

_Isolation...blackness...no air..._

His eyes snapped open again, and he swallowed down the rising bile that memory brought with it. Had that been some kind of nightmare?

He realised then that his left arm was in a tight sling, immobilising it. So that part, at least, was real. But Kolya's men had given him a sound beating and he'd passed out. The rest of it had probably been some horrible nightmare his mind had conjured up to torment him. It was good at doing that kind of thing.

Voices drifted to him from not too far away, just beyond the curtains encapsulating his bed if he wasn't mistaken. Keller. McKay. Teyla. Ronon. Names that came easily to him now, but he would have struggled with before...in that darkness.

'He's doing well, and should make a full recovery. But I don't have to tell you how close he came this time. Another fifteen minutes and there could have been permanent brain damage,' Keller was telling them.

'I still can't believe they could do that to him. We thought he was dead for sure.' That was McKay, melodramatic as ever.

'If we had dug more slowly, he would have been,' Teyla said softly.

'Well, that's down to Ronon. He worked like a man possessed.'

'I had a feeling,' Ronon grunted, matter-of-fact. 'Those Genii were too keen to convince us he was dead.'

'Well it's a good thing you didn't trust them,' he heard Keller say, her sunshine voice just a little too bright for his throbbing head. 'Like I said; it was a close call.'

'Can we see him.' That was Teyla again, always the first to come to his bedside.

'Of course. He may still be sleeping, so...Oh, no. He's awake. Good morning, Colonel!' Keller's face appeared through the curtain, then she pushed it back to grant his friends entrance.

Sheppard just grunted, adjusting the oxygen feed that now irritated his nose.

'Oh, I think we can take that off now if it's uncomfortable.'

'Please,' he sighed, and she gentled pulled it free from him.

'So how're you feeling?' she asked, giving him her customary warm smile.

'Like someone threw me out of a plane at 10,000 feet without a 'chute,' he croaked.

Recognising the sound of thirst, Keller helped him take a drink of water to lubricate his dry throat. 'Well, thankfully none of your injuries are that serious. Aside from the dislocated shoulder, a bruised kidney, three cracked ribs and the two gunshot wounds, you're in great shape!'

He quirked an eyebrow, saying nothing.

'Well, great shape compared to a fall from 10,000 feet without a 'chute,' she clarified, looking embarrassed.

'When can I get out of here, then?' he asked.

Her eyes grew saucer-like at the mere suggestion. 'You only just woke up. I'm going to need you here for at least forty-eight hours to monitor things. And don't even think about trying to slip away because I'll be keeping an eye in you, Colonel.'

_Great, so now I'm stuck in here, too,_ he thought, feeling a sharp twinge as he tried to move his aching legs.

After a quick check of his vitals, Dr Keller was satisfied he was doing well and so left him alone with his friends.

'How are you feeling, John?' Teyla asked, rubbing his arm, but stopping when he flinched.

'Hungry,' he mumbled, thinking it was the easiest answer to give.

Ronon smirked, nodding. 'I bet. You haven't eaten since yesterday morning.'

'Do you remember much about what happened?' Teyla pressed, obviously not about to be distracted by talk of food.

'I remember Kolya's men beating the crap out of me, yeah,' he confessed, carefully pushing himself up so he was sitting straighter.

Teyla adjusted his pillows to support him, and Ronon helped him slide his backside back before he cautiously lowered himself against them. 'And after that?' she pressed.

'I'm not sure. I was pretty confused...' he said, not wanting to touch on the feelings he'd lived through in that tiny prison.

'You don't remember being in that box? I would have completely freaked!' Rodney babbled, his eyes reflecting the panic even the thought of such confinement awoke in him. 'I can't stand tiny spaces. I got stuck in one of the transporters for half an hour a few days back and I was climbing the walls...literally!'

'Yeah, so I heard,' Sheppard sighed, flinching as he tried to move his damaged shoulder, testing it for strength.

'You don't know how lucky you are,' Rodney grinned, perching on the edge of his bed.

'No...actually...I was thinking just that when I was lying in that crate with time on my hands,' Sheppard quipped, another attempt at deflection.

'Well, no, that part wasn't so lucky, obviously,' the scientist conceded. 'But there were so many factors that worked in your favour yesterday. We sent out four teams, and you were on one of the first four planets we chose from the addresses we retrieved from the DHD. And if the soil had been different we might not have been able to track you. Plus, if that box hadn't been made of such strong wood...'

'Yeah, I get the idea,' Sheppard snapped, feeling a frown score its way onto his forehead. He really didn't want to think about any of that right now. It was all still too fresh; too raw.

_Isolated. Dying alone...slipping away..._

Sheppard pushed the thought down, but not before Teyla saw something in his expression that worried her. 'John, are you feeling unwell?'

'Headache, that's all,' he lied.

Teyla and Ronon exchange a glance that said they knew he was lying, but they didn't push him. Sheppard liked that about his friends. They knew when to back down – at least some of them did.

'Seriously, though. You must have been terrified in that box; tied up, gagged, hurt and stuffed into a crate and buried...I can't think of anything worse.'

_And I can't think of anything else._ Sheppard reminded himself that Rodney was trying to help in his own inimitable way. He took a deep breath. 'Yes, Rodney. It was pretty scary. But I knew you guys would come for me.'

'And so we did,' McKay said, giving him a wide smile.

'Yes, you did. Thank you...All of you.'

Again, Teyla gazed at him with empathy, no doubt reading more between the lines than he was comfortable with saying outright. He'd never worn his heart on his sleeve, and he wasn't about to start now, no matter how close to death he'd come. Teyla recognised that, so did Ronon. Perhaps at some level, Rodney did too, but he was as bad at expressing himself as Sheppard was, so he hid behind a torrent of words and banter, just as he always did.

'You must be tired. We should let you rest now,' Teyla said gently, reaching out as if to touch his arm again, but pulling back before making contact.

'Still hungry, though,' Sheppard hinted hopefully as they began to withdraw.

Teyla gave him another of her heart-tugging smiles. 'I will tell Dr Keller. I'm sure she will know what is best for you.'

Ronon hung back a second or two longer, nudging Sheppard's arm. 'You sure you're all right, buddy?'

'Yeah...at least I will be when someone feeds me.'

Ronon nodded again, his piercing eyes scouring Sheppard's face a while longer until he finally gave up waiting for more. 'See ya later,' he rumbled, following the others out, reaching up to draw the curtains around the bed again.

'No...leave it open!' Sheppard called out, annoyed with himself for sounding so desperate to stop him. 'This place is dull enough as it is without being closed in.'

Ronon fixed his gaze on him again, and his eyes told Sheppard that he knew there was more to his request than boredom.

'Thanks,' John said more quietly. 'For everything.'

Ronon's forehead puckered with concern, but he said nothing more, just nodded and turned away.

Left alone, Sheppard examined how he really felt. That had been close...too close. Rodney was right; horrible as the experience had been, luck really had been on his side. He'd given up, accepted his fate, but not them. They'd come after him and done everything it had taken to get him back, just like they always did. That was where the luck really lay, in the friends he'd chosen to surround himself with.

He realised then he should never have doubted them, and swore to himself he never would again.


End file.
